Dark Angel
by dolphina23
Summary: Sasuke is the leader of a yakuza clan. something has been stolen from him by a rival yakuza clan. These are the lengths he will go to in order to get it back. Because, after all, no one steals from him. Absolutely no one. This was a Reader Appreciation art challenge done on Y! Gallery. If you would like to see the art that inspired it, my username there is dolphina12.


For the Reader Appreciation challenge. Link to pic that was the inspiration here. This was hell to write. I've not done a first person point of view in a long time,and never present tense, so a triple challenge. But it just fit with this. I thank everyone involved in the challenge for holding it.

**Warnings**: All standard warnings apply. Also, eventual boy on boy lovin'; extreme violence; lots of blood, perhaps a little during sex as well; a very dangerous, and sexily dark Sasuke. Mmmm, that is all, I think. Oh, and the pic was not made by me but can be found in the link above. Many thanks for the inspiration it caused.

**Dark Angel**

**Part 1: Deliver Us From Evil**

Bright halogen and neon lighting assaults my eyes as I step out of my car. The lights come from everywhere. They are so bright that the night sky above seems to cower and tremble in fear. I like that. I've always loved this city. The small country town I was born in could not compare with Tokyo. The bustling streets, the crowds, the often times strange fashion worn by the younger generation. I snort through my nose as the cold February air assaults my senses. The bright light from the street lamps and vendor signs catches my attention. Most of the buildings in Tokyo now are skyscrapers, offices, and highrise apartment buildings that look more like they belong to a futuristic Earth, mixed in with the older crumbling facades of architecture made just a few decades before. Next to the shiny metal and glass of the corporate world, my own business is shaped to look as if it were transported from another realm, one of light and silver, darkened by rare green marble.

My name is Uchiha Sasuke, and I head one of the most powerful industries in all of Japan. We sell everything from computers to jet engines to a a particular brand of liquor only found in-country. The authorities, Godless pigs even when inside a church, would have you believe we are evil incarnate. That drugs are more our main fare, and that violence is a code we live by. While that might have been true of my father's generation, he is now dead. I am boss. And we are yakuza, some of the most feared men in all of Japan, spreading that terror outward and to the west, like a stagnant wind blown by a gentle fan, so that it creeps up on you. My men and I try to keep that side of the business as low key as possible. But we aren't about to get pushed around either. I like my life, you see. I like the money it produces and the ability it affords me to do as I please, with whomever I please. Lately, it has been the company of men that I enjoy the most, both intimately and for friendship. If you think yakuza cannot have friends or romantic partners then you degrade us more than those fools who claim to keep the peace. And for that I should kill you. I would, if I wasn't trying to change the way we work. All thanks to an even bigger, brighter fool for all his ideals. But back to the matter at hand.

My black, silk and Egyptian cotton suit jacket slides off my shoulders as I enter Uchiha Corps' main building. Striding to the elevator, I neatly fold the clothing over an arm and wait for my men, my top two lieutenants, to follow. Once everyone is in, the doors hush closed in a quietly expensive way. Near the bottom of the building, three full floors below the earth, there is a door that sits at the end of a very long hallway.

The hall is not like any other, not Italian marble or sandstone, nor is it walled and tiled in ceramic, toned in shades of dark blue, black, or green, from Prague. No. These walls and the floor are simple metal tiles, one foot square, painted white. I like the white. It symbolizes purity, and the type of paint I chose is easy to clean. When the doors hush open again I can see the door at the far end of the hall, although anyone else would be hard put to find it. The seams blend into the grout surrounding the tile.

My fingers begin to twitch and jerk a little, just a tiny bit. The tingling running down to the fingertips has nothing to do with any neurological disorder affecting the nerves. It has everything to do with what's about to happen in that room. Turning to my first lieutenant, I nod and he reaches for a concealed panel behind one of the wall tiles to his right. Once the keypad has surfaced and the code entered, I step into the near pitch black aura of The Room. I can hear whimpering and a soft, muffled cry. I smile. This is why I will always be terrible, no matter what _that man_ tries to get me to do to assuage the sensibilities of the masses, those peasants that serve me no purpose but to amuse if they can. I am Uchiha Sasuke, and the man cowering before me will break before I set him free to join his hallowed ancestors. As the door begins to close, shutting it all in darkness once more, I twist my upper body to motion with a finger to my Second and relish in the hard swallow I catch in the dying light.

"My new suit, Sui," I use his nickname. Only mine is drawn out in full. The pride of the Uchiha name, and all it stands for, is tantamount to religion.

"Ready and waiting, Uchiha-san," he mumbles, bowing his head. I frown. I don't like the insolent look in his eyes, or the way they never seem to look at the floor as he pays me my due respect as his leader. Whatever. I would deal with it soon. I shrug and step over to stand in front of the crying man on the floor, huddled into a crouch like an injured rabbit, secured to the floor with a chain that linked to the cuffs around his wrists, just long enough for him to sit up on his knees comfortably. They made a delightful tinkling sound as he moved.

As I walk I begin to strip down, grabbing the clothes Juugo has held out to me, always kept hidden in a paneled recess in the wall. Changing to black arm bands that cover my hands, ending in metal loops around each middle finger and running all the way up to my biceps, my black silk pants with elastic at the cuffs, no shoes or socks, I am only sorry that my tattoo cannot be seen as well in the low lighting tracking along the floor. It dies completely as the man lifts his head, but not before I hear the sharp inhale, the hard swallow. My smile grows wider. It is fearsome, truly, the look I know is in my eyes, and the dark shadows I know he could just make out in the ink on my chest. The smile fades, the muscles in my face grow slack, and I get down to business, the reason why I am here.

"You know who I am, correct?" I ask, my face carefully blank. The recessed lighting in the ceiling, cut down to offer the minimal required for me to move, clicks on. The hum of the gases inside the narrow tubing lulls me. The crying intensifies and the man's voice cracks as he tries to speak.

"O-of course I know who you are," he gets out finally. Then, pulling on some last vestige of foolhardy courage, he smiles humorlessly, jacks his head back, and spits on my face. There's a lot of blood in his spit. It runs down my cheek and I can feel it dribble onto my throat continuing to snake down my skin in an uneven slow line, right over my chest. I don't allow it to color my voice or face, how disgusting the act is to me.

"Then you are aware of what I can accomplish, given my history and the funds available to me." I make it a statement not a question, keeping my voice calm, almost conversational. I watch as the man smiles and laughs, again no humor in the sounds.

"It doesn't matter. You aren't going to find what you're looking for." I have grabbed his hair now to better see the look of misplaced determination I find there.

My face is a carefully constructed slate, no emotion, no cracks in the alabaster armor I wear for him. My skin is smooth and very pale, my eyes and hair indicative of my Japanese heritage. But there is a dark blue tint underneath the black in the strands, like a raven's wings. And my eyes are actually very dark gray, not black, although I have never seen them that way. Only my partner has ever said as much, trusting that I won't kill him for saying something I dislike. He's like that, my Sunshine Boy.

The tattoo I had painted into the skin of my chest covers it almost completely, dark wings and tail of something like a crow in the center, with no head, only a circle that holds a design that my brother created as a sort of family seal. The seal comes in the shape of two triangles, on set upside down and atop the other to form a star, in the center of which lies a circle with three lines edging into the points of the center triangle. Two snakes in a much duller ink, reminiscent of jailhouse tattoos I have seen on my colleagues, one on each shoulder. Below all of this is black fire, swirling up from a line that swoops up from my chest bone to grace the tops of my nipples then arching down below my shoulders on my upper arms. It's a confusing array of imagery to some, but to this man, it should spell disaster. I only take my shirt off when I'm ready to get my hands dirty. And when that happens the very floor I stand on will groan and cry for all the blood it must endure.

"Let me be clear," I say as Suigetsu hands me a small flail in supple black leather that resembles a miniature cat-o-nine tails. With a quick pull over my shoulder, I bring it down over his chest and he screams and twists against the cuffs and looped chain violently as I wrench the barbed spikes free, blood spraying into my hair, on my right arm, the left side of my ribs.

"You will tell me what I want to know," I command softly as again I smack the flail home, this time on the part of his stomach I can get to. Another scream.

"Or you will die."

The man tries to laugh again once he has regained some of his senses, but instead it comes out as a sort of cough. I can hear how wet it is. He's been down here for almost two weeks and the passage of time has begun to show in the slight protrusions of rib bones, the ragged coughing Juugo has told me about, the sallow tint to his emaciated skin. The coughing carries on for a few, very long seconds and he takes a huge breath.

"You could kill us all and you'll never find it. I ain't gonna tell you shit."

The smirk on his face is not welcome. The hardened look in his eyes tells me something else I don't like. I walk slowly around until I face his back and continue my administrations with the whip. More screams, but all too soon they begin to die down feebly, as if the battery on a talking child's toy has run down. Not even fifteen minutes goes by and now it is only so much red meat, broken and bloody. My breath is coming out in heavy draws and sweat has mixed with the man's blood until a sticky mass has formed on my chest. I itch to wipe it off but back up to the far wall. The smooth tile when it hits is cold and I revel in it a moment, closing my eyes.

"Put him up," I order Suigetsu and Juugo, my right- and left-hand men. Suigestu, his snaggle-tooth and jaggedly cut white hair that settles just below his chin gleaming in the semi-darkness, moves to comply. Juugo is slower, but not because of the fact that he is taller, stockier and bulkier than either of us. I know very well how silently and quickly he can move. It was one of the reasons I chose him. The other is that out of all my men, these two are closer to brethren, trustworthy and resolute in following all orders. But Juugo gives me a look and I know I have gone too far. The anger rising in my gut had clawed its way out and I swallowed it back a little. Better to let it sit, breath, then bring it back out when I was ready. The man screams, harsh and short, before inhaling, a huge, thick sound, as the hook enters his back.

"One last chance," I warn. The man's head lolls to the side, his eyes rolling in his head. I hear a grunt and great, wheezing breaths. A shake of the head, but I can just make out fear now in the glint of the light from above. That's good.

"Tell me what I want to know," I repeat. But the man shakes his head rapidly. He bites at his lips until they should have drawn blood, but it is weak, the color not as dark. I have lost my patience already.

"You won't talk? Then I have no real use for you, do I?" I ask the man, a ruined strip of flesh hanging down from his chest dripping blood all over the clean white tiles. Drains set into the floor begin to draw in some of it. I watch the trails of dark red with interest, the swirling something artful to me. Dimly, in the back of my mind, I know my partner won't be happy when he hears about what I've done. How far I've gone. But it was with a good purpose, to me anyway. No one steals from me. Absolutely no one.

There is no more whimpering; the poor guy is probably out cold, or nearly there, from all the pain and blood loss. He is useless now. Covering his mouth with one of my hands, I use the other as leverage behind his head. A knife Juugo had been holding onto for me, my favorite, appears at my right side. I twist his head until I hear the snap and feel the jerk of all his limbs. He is struggling to breathe now, still suspended by the hook Suigestu had drawn down from the ceiling through a concealed control panel. The knife is in my hands now, the familiar weight of the Italian steel and burled walnut an old friend. I use it to pierce the skin above the man's liver, my unique intelligence guiding me in the dark. More blood spills onto my hand and arm as the organ is ruptured, the body swinging and kicking futilely and aimlessly. It stops after a few more minutes and the blood is trickling now, no longer spurting. My breathing is heavy again and I take a few moments to relax it.

Turning to Suigetsu, I smirk. I am sure it looks just as twisted as it feels. It's been a long time since I allowed myself to get so worked up.

"Bring in the other one," I tell him. He nods and leaves the room through the hydraulic door that hisses as it closes. I could swear I heard a disgruntled mutter under his breath. I definitely would have to have a conversation with him soon. Juugo stands at my side, a little too close. I step back, my bare feet sliding a little in the blood covering the floor.

"Is this wise, Sasuke?" he asks. He is the only one to call me by my first name, other than my partner of course. I sigh, forcing my face to mimic the stone walls, blank and white.

"What would you do if it were you they had stolen from? If it were something as precious as that?" I ask him quietly. He bows his head for answer and steps back, hands folded in front of him. His straggly, mid-length orange hair clashes horribly in the yellow light, light brown eyes soft, almost gentle. But whenever it came down to doing what was necessary, Juugo knew how to handle his job, and me, it seems. Or it could be that my partner had done what he had always promised he would, and I am no longer as dark and cruel as I would like to believe.

When Suigetsu shuffles in guiding the second man we had caught from the Oeida Group, a rival yakuza gang, I hitch myself off the wall letting all my anger break its trappings. The taught lines that held it snapped free and yet my face, I could feel, shows nothing. Just as well. I would need every bit of strength I had gained taking control of my father's corporation, and every bit of cunning I had been using to change it to something a little less criminal, in order to find what I sought. My Sunshine Boy would not be able to comfort me until it was all over, if I could convince him to. But the one hope driving me is that I would be the only one to need it after all was said and done.

Second and last part. All standard warnings apply: boy on boy lovin', much violence, dark and scary Sasuke, and Naruto appears. Also may contain cursing.

Continuation of my fic for the Reader Appreciation art challenge. Link to pic that was the inspiration here.

**Part 2: And Forgive Those That Trespass Against Us**


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